A REFLECTION AT SEA.

See how, beneath the moonbearn's smile,
Yon little billow heaves its breast,
And foams and sparkles for a while,
And murmuring then subsides to rest.
Thus man, the sport of bliss and care,
Rises on Time's eventful sea;
And, having swell'd a moment there,
Thus melts into eternity!

MIRIAM'S SONG.

Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea!
Jehovah has triumph'd, his people are free.
Sing, for the pride of the tyrant is broken,

His chariots, his horsemen, all splendid and brave,
How vain was their boasting! The Lord hath but spoken,
And chariots and horsemen are sunk in the wave.
Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea!

Jehovah has triumph'd, his people are free.

*

Lallah Rook" is Moore's best poem.

Of all the song-writers (says Professor Wilson, that ever warbled, or chanted, or sung, the best, in our estimation, is verily none other than Thomas Moore. True, that Robert Burns has indited several songs that slip into the heart, just like light, no one knows how, filling its chambers sweetly and silently, and leaving it nothing more to desire for perfect con

tentment.

SECTION XXV.

ROBERT BURNS..

He has written much of the sweetest poetry in the language; much, also, that a just regard to his own reputation would have suppressed and thrown into oblivion. According to the poet Montgomery, “Burns, as a writer, when worthily employing his talents, is the poet of truth, of nature, and of Scotland. The high praises bestowed upon this author must be confined to the best and the purest in morals and in taste. The genius of Burns resembled the pearl of Cleopatra, both in its worth and its fortune: the one was moulded by nature in secret, beneath the depths of

he ocean; the other was produced and perfected by the same hand, in equal obscurity, on the banks of the Ayre. The former was suddenly brought to light, and shone for a season on the forehead of imperial beauty; the latter, not less unexpectedly, emerged from the shade, and dazzled and delighted an admiring nation, in the keeping of a Scottish peasant. The fate of both was the same; each was wantonly dissolved in the cup of pleasure, and quaffed by its possessor at one intemperate draught."

Mr. M. has beautifully delineated his poetic powers

in verse:

What bird in beauty, flight, or song,

Can with this bird compare,

Who sang as sweet, and soar'd as strong
As ever child of air?

His plume, his note, his form, could BURNS
For whim or pleasure change;
He was not one, but all by turns,
With transmigration strange.

The black-bird, oracle of spring,
When flow'd his moral lay;
The swallow, wheeling on his wing,
Capriciously at play;

The humming-bird, from bloom to bloom,
Inhaling heavenly balm;

The raven, in the tempest's gloom;
The halcyon, in the calm:

In "auld Kirk Alloway," the owl,
At witching time of night;

By "bonnie Doon," the earliest fowl
That carol'd to the light.

He was the wren amid the grove,
When in his homely vein;

At Bannockburn the bird of Jove,
With thunder in his train:

The wood-lark, in his mournful hours;
The goldfinch, in his mirth;
The thrush, a spendthrift of his powers,
Enrapturing heaven and earth;

The swan, in majesty and grace,
Contemplative and still;"

But, roused, no falcon in the chase
Could like his satire kill.

Of minstrels great and small,

He sprang from his spontaneous fire
The phoenix of them all.

The style of his patriotic poetry may be judged of from the following stanza. It is taken from his "Cotter's Saturday Night :"

"O Scotia! my dear, my native soil!

For whom my warmest wish to Heaven is sent,

Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil

Be bless'd with health, and peace, and sweet content.
And oh, may Heaven their simple lives prevent
From luxury's contagion weak and vise;

Then however crowns and coronets be rent,

A virtuous populace may rise the while,

And stand, a wall of fire, around their much-loved isle." The kindness of his heart may be seen in the following selections:

ON SCARING SOME WATER-FOWL IN LOCH TURIT

Why, ye tenants of the lake,

For me your watery haunt forsake?
Tell me, fellow-creatures, why
At my presence thus you fly?
Why disturb your social joys.
Parent, filial, kindred tie
Common friend to ye and
Nature's gifts to all are free.

Peaceful keep your ding wave,

Busy feed, or wanton lave;

Or, beneath the sheltering rock,

Bide the surging billows'

CK.

ON SEEING A WOUNDED HARE LIMP BY ME WHICH A FEJ
LOW HAD JUST SHOT AT.

Inhuman man! curse on thy barbarous art,
And blasted be thy murder-aiming eye!
May never pity soothe thee with a sigh,
Nor ever pleasure glad thy cruel heart!
Go live, poor wanderer of the wood and field,
The bitter little that of life remains;

No more the thickening brakes and verdant plains
To thee shall home, or food, or pastime yield.

Fain would I say, "Forgive my foul offense ""
Fain promise never more to disobey;
But, should my Author health again dispense,
Again I might desert fair virtue's Way;
Again in folly's path might go astray;

Again exalt the brute and sink the man;

Then how should I for heavenly mercies pray

!

Who sin so oft have mourn'd, yet to temptation ran?
O thou. great Governor of all below!

If I may dare a lifted eye to thee,

Thy nod can make the tempest cease to biow,
Or still the tumult of the raging sea;

With what controlling power assist e'en me,
Those headlong, furious passions to confine;
For all unfit I feel my powers to be

To rule their torrent in th' allowed line:
O, aid me with thy help, Omnipotence Divine !

SECTION XXVI.

WALTER SCOTT.

In his poetry he imitated the style of the early minstrels of his own land, and of some specimens of German literature. He has revived the manners, customs, incidents, and sentiments of chivalrous times. The "Lay of the Last Minstrel," "Marmion,” and "Lady of the Lake" are considered the finest of his tales. The opinion has been expressed that if it be possible for either to be forgotten, his poems will outlive his prose, since the latter possesses no valuable quality which is not possessed also by the former; these qualities being a deeply exciting story, true pictures of scenery, fine and accurate portraits

of character, clear and impressive accounts of ancient customs, details of battles, satisfying to the fancy, yet capable of enduring the sternest test of truth. In addition to all these, his poems are written in the most harmonious verse, and in a style adapted equally to delight those who possess and those who are without a refined poetical taste.

Here we may commend to the perusal of youth and of others, the two volumes of the "Select Works of British Poets," by Professor Frost and S. C. Hall, who have given also a more extended notice, than the limits of this work allow, of the poets we have named and of others.

SCOTT AND WORDSWORTH.

Mr. Hazlitt presents the following portrait of them: Walter Scott describes that which is most easily and generally understood with more vivacity and effect than any body else. His style is clear, flowing, and transparent : his sentiments, of which his style is an easy and natural medium, are common to him with his readers. He differs from his readers only in a greater range of knowledge and facility of expression. His poetry belongs to the class of improvisatori poetry. It has neither depth, height, nor breadth in it; neither uncommon strength nor uncommon refinement of thought, sentiment, or language. He selects a story that is sure to please, full of incidents, characters, peculiar manners, costume, and scenery; and he tells it in a way that can offend no one. He never wearies or disappoints you. He is communicative, but not his own hero. He never obtrudes himself on your notice to prevent your seeing the subject. He is very inferior to Lord Byron in intense passion, to Moore in delightful fancy, to Mr. Wordsworth in profound sentiment; but he has more picturesque power than any of them; that is, he places the objects themselves, about which they might feel or think, in a much more striking point of view, with greater variety of dress and attitude, and with more local truth of coloring. descriptions have a more complete reality, a more striking appearance of life and motion, than that of the warriors in the Lady of the Lake, who start up at the command of Roderic Dhu, from their concealment under the fern, and disappear again in an instant The Lay of the Last Min

Few